Witch Hunt
by MissKitsune08
Summary: Captain Pellaeon becomes entangled in power games between Grand Admiral Thrawn and Ysanne Isard who would stop at nothing to bring the alien down to his knees. The title says it all. Loyal? Prove it! You have been warned. Gen. Mix of Canon and Legends.


The Freak Fleet 'verse: A series of stories exploring the dynamics among Grand Admiral Thrawn, Pellaeon, Covell, Parck, Niriz, Dorja, and other members of the Seventh Fleet. Legends cast in Rebels, a couple of OCs. Mix of Canon and Legends.

The Freak Fleet - Breaking the Ice - Of Chiss and Men - **Witch Hunt** \- Second Chances - Chance Encounters - The Evil So Terrible It Tried To Black Out The Stars - An Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object - All Roads Lead to Coruscant - Freak Fleet Files - A Kingdom of Isolation

* * *

Author's Note: The Commission for the Preservation of the New Order (COMPNOR) is a Galactic Empire government agency responsible for the promotion of New Order ideology.

In Legends, COMPNOR has many branches (e.g. Imperial Security Bureau), in Canon we haven't seen much of the Emperor's bullies yet. The whole concept is rather complicated and it would take a long time to explain. I decided to write my own take on how the Empire carries out its dirty work. Guess who is canonically in charge of COMPNOR, Director Armand Isard, father to no one else than the infamous Ysanne "Iceheart" Isard (= Director of Imperial Intelligence in Legends.)

* * *

"Come in," Pellaeon called absentmindedly at the sound of the door chime. Placed under arrest and confined to quarters, it was not like he had any choice about letting anyone in but it was still nice that whoever was on the opposite side of the door was giving him enough courtesy by not simply marching in using the override.

The door opened with a hissing sound, and Pellaeon found himself abruptly standing into full attention, mentally cursing himself for not doing anything about an unruly pile of books that had been on his desk nor bothering to button up his uniform jacket, for there was none other than Grand Admiral Thrawn standing at the entrance.

"Admiral," he started awkwardly, feeling a little light-headed.

Pellaeon was a military man at heart, punctuality and order coming as second nature to him. He prided himself on running his ship with utmost efficiency, never tolerating disorderliness from his subordinates or even from himself. However, it all paled in comparison with Grand Admiral Thrawn.

The Chiss took several carefully measured steps, giving Pellaeon's quarters a long, pensive look not so dissimilar from the expression that he used to have during his surprise inspections—he was even wearing the white gloves he wore during those inspections—his red eyes going over the collection of various items that Pellaeon kept as memorabilia from the ships he had served on, until finally resting on the unruly pile of books, his blue-black brows furrowing in a disapproving frown.

"At ease, Captain," Thrawn said in his usual calm, modulated voice. "I did not come here in any official manner. I have just returned back from Ryloth only to find the executive officer in charge my flagship, hearing the Captain had been relieved from duty and confined to his quarters by a warrant issued by the COMPNOR."

"Ah, yes, COMPNOR could never resist a dramatic entrance..."

They had requested a landing permission and headed straight to the bridge, accusing Pellaeon of a conflict of interest in front of the whole bridge crew, effectively relieving him from duty. The COMPNOR and its branches had the authority to do so, making every captain in the Fleet dread the moment a shuttle carrying its authorization codes appeared on their radars. Well, every captain but Pellaeon.

Pellaeon knew the ISB had sent a field operative to Lothal to weed out the traitors and Rebel sympathizers, therefore he found nothing unusual about their higher-ups sending some of their own.

Pellaeon dedicated his life to the military, internalizing its values of discipline, order, efficiency, and obedience to authority, and respected the military as a prestigious and honorable institution. He never had the luxury of having political opinions, and therefore he would have never considered the possibility that the COMPNOR might have actually come for him.

"Sir, I have absolutely no idea what is going on," Pellaeon admitted, "it must be a terrible misunderstanding."

The Grand Admiral finally took his eyes off the books and focused them on Pellaeon, his posture uncharacteristically tense, his expression getting grim.

"It is no misunderstanding, Captain."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Pellaeon blurted out, feeling completely lost.

The Grand Admiral let out a sigh, and there was a brief flicker of an emotion that Pellaeon had never seen on that alien features before.

"This is a deliberate, well-planned move, Captain. They must have been biding their time, waiting for an opportunity to strike, choosing the moment I left _Chimaera_ for Ryloth to prevent me from disrupting their plans."

Pellaeon took a sharp inhale. "They did that to get to—" he stopped himself just in time.

In other words, when Thrawn had been appointed the rank of a grand admiral by the Emperor himself, he finally got away from COMPNOR's poisonous grasp. An alien reaching the highest rank of the Imperial Navy, answering only to the Grand Moffs, the Dark Lord, and the Emperor himself? It must have made the fanatical followers of the New Order go white with fury. So they decided to take their revenge on Thrawn's flagship captain.

Again, there was a brief flicker of an emotion that he had never seen on that blue face in the past. If the alien's posture had seemed tense before, he was now, at least to all appearances, completely rigid.

"I must ask for your full cooperation in this matter, Captain," Thrawn's voice was quiet and very, very cold. "You will submit yourself to them, answering every single of their questions fully and truthfully. Is there anything that could have been possibly used against you?"

Pellaeon swallowed hard; he had an idea what kind of approach the COMPNOR would use to get to him.

"Well, there might be a few skeletons in the closet..." The poor attempt at a joke didn't seem funny even to him, let alone to the Chiss.

The Chiss nodded slowly, some of the stiffness of his posture finally evaporating.

"Nothing at the present, I presume?"

Pellaeon shook his head.

"No. Only the past. Everybody has a past that sooner or later comes back to haunt them..."

He meant it as a general statement, not really a joke at himself or at the other man in the room. Therefore it came as a shock to him when the Chiss startled, his perfect facade cracking for an instant, the red eyes widening. And then it was gone, vanished as abruptly as it appeared.

"I made an error, Captain," The Chiss said quietly, his voice cold as ice, his expression unreadable. "And I had better correct that error before it becomes a mistake." He shifted his glowing gaze back at Pellaeon, giving him a curt nod in farewell, marching out of the room in his long, carefully measured strides.

 _Do you know the difference between an error and a mistake?_

Pellaeon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This had a potential to become a very, very deadly, indeed...

* * *

Pellaeon tried his best to ignore the curious looks as the whole entourage walked through the _Chimaera_ 's corridors to the Aft Conference Room No 1. An armed escort could not have been avoided, of course, it would have been a serious breach of security protocols. Innocent until proven guilty had been one of the first things that the Emperor decided to abolish once he transformed the Republic into the Galactic Empire.

"Troopers, stand guard outside." The Grand Admiral ordered the soldiers who wordlessly took their assigned posts.

"Their presence during the hearing will not be necessary." He adressed the COMPNOR operatives. "The Captain will behave or I will discipline him myself."

The apparent head of the group nodded, dismissing her henchmen as well. "I will handle the questioning personally, agents," she said in a cold tone.

"After you, _Grand_ Admiral."

And so only the three of them entered the conference room, the Grand Admiral motioning to him to take seat opposite the interrogator, sitting down further away at the head of the table himself. His presence had been redundant, in fact, he could not have interfered with the hearing in any official or unofficial manner. However, no one could have possibly ordered a grand admiral around, especially on his own flagship.

In any case, the interrogator had appeared not to mind. If anything, she seemed to be even pleased that the Grand Admiral wanted to be present watching his own flagship captain's dignity about to be flushed down the 'fresher.

For the COMPNOR operative who sat down directly opposite to him had been no one else than the daughter of the Director Isard himself, Ysanne Isard.

Young, beautiful, and very deadly.

She was of an athletic build, tall, with curves in the right places. She wore her long black hair unbound, two white sidelocks framed a face that would have made the woman the toast of any number of planets. Her high forehead, strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and straight nose all combined to make her a rare beauty, with only one element spoiling the effect. Her mismatched, heterochromatic eyes; one eye had been blood red, the other one pale blue.

Well, Pellaeon had been used to looking directly into not just one, but two red, _glowing_ eyes, so her unusual appearance could not have possibly had any intimidating effect on him.

"Madame," Pellaeon gave her a curt nod and looked directly into the mismatched eyes.

"Captain Pellaeon," Isard said in a frosty tone, putting an unnecessary emphasis on his rank. She had not been nicknamed Iceheart for nothing.

"Shall we begin?"

Well, one had to admit, the field agents certainly did their homework.

Pellaeon had an idea what kind of bantha manure would they dig up on him, but even he had to congratulate them on the sheer amount of data they had been able to reconstruct based on his personal HoloNet access history records, his financial records, and his personal correspondence.

Iceheart presented him with the complete record of all the female companions he had during his many years of service for the Republic and the Empire. Gil and his women. His only weakness, the thing that had dragged down his career for many years and eventually resulted in him accepting a low rank position in the Seventh Fleet. Still, despite how much it had cost him, now that he had been browsing through the list, he couldn't bring himself regret any of them. They were Ladies, with capital Ls, all of them. And some of them barely aged a day.

Oh, his life would have been much easier if he simply did one night stands like all the other officers. And would have been so much more boring.

"Captain Pellaeon?"

Pellaeon cleared his throat. "What can I say, Madame?" He said innocently, giving her an honest shrug. "You don't really expect me to tell the details, do you? Gentlemen don't talk about such things."

Isard practically snatched away the datapad from him, a sneer appearing on her beautiful face. Such an expression was completely unbecoming of a lady, but then there was no lady sitting opposite to him. There was a banshee. A shebeast from one of the Corellian Nine Hells.

"Then let's talk about the way you run your ship, _Captain_ ," Isard spat out his rank like an insult.

"How would you describe your relationship with your executive officer?" Isard asked coldly.

Pellaeon took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Commander Riza is a very capable, highly skilled officer, dedicated first and foremost to the Empire and her duties."

He would have never recommended her for promotion otherwise, and the Grand Admiral would have certainly never had approved it.

"Beautiful?" Isard supplied.

"Oh, she is certainly beautiful for her age," Pellaeon didn't see a reason to deny it, "and she is also married. And a member of my crew. In the direct chain of command."

He would spell it out for Isard if necessary.

"There could have never been anything between us."

He knew Isard would have been able to tell the truth behind his words but it seemed she had not been satisfied with the answer.

"Grand Admiral?" She asked abruptly, turning her attention on the third occupant of the room.

He had been sitting there in complete silence, simply listening to the entire exchange, making Pellaeon almost forget the Chiss was there. And that he had heard everything. _Shavit._

"I couldn't care less about what my human subordinates do in their leisure time, that is, of course, unless an another member of the crew were involved. If I had any suspicion about the Captain or the Commander I would have had them both immediately demoted to lieutenants and transferred each to a different ship."

The Chiss said in such a cold, indifferent tone that Pellaeon only rarely heard from him these days.

"Then perhaps you won't mind telling us about your relationship with Commander Riza, Grand Admiral?" Isard raised her chin in defiance. She wouldn't seriously consider interrogating a grand admiral, would she? She might not have any Navy rank but even COMPNOR held no power over the Emperor's handpicked few.

"Do not be ridiculous, Chief Isard," The Chiss said with the same cold indifference, "You of all people should know better after you so conveniently placed all those humans and aliens in my path. I thought you'd have finally gotten the message after I sent back your Zeltron with a parting gift."

The mismatched eyes gleamed dangerously, her beautiful face hardening. Pellaeon knew he had been a mere bait, that she was doing all this only to humiliate him in front of his superior officer, who to all appearances, seemed to be apathetic to all this. Isard couldn't have known, of course, but the Chiss had been anything but indifferent when it came to his crew; he had a very peculiar way of showing it. And the way he put an emphasis on the word 'human,' as if humans had been completely unworthy of his attention, was highly unusual as well.

It was clear that Isard didn't like Thrawn's retort, either, nor Pellaeon's calm submission, and most of all she didn't like that neither of them appeared to take her master plan seriously.

"Captain Pellaeon," Isard said so sharply that it made Pellaeon startle; now they made her angry. "Let's talk about Hallena Devis."

Well, at least the banshee finally cut the chit chat and decided to bare her claws. Hallena Devis was the thing he meant when he had said to the Grand Admiral that everybody had a past that sooner or later would come back to haunt them.

"Of all you female… friends," Isard spat the word like an insult, "It was Ms Devis whose company you sought most often, with whom you spent most of your shore leaves… You never her let go, did you?"

Pellaeon coughed. The Iceheart finally showed her true face.

"You are mistaken about the latter. Hallena and I are no longer seeing each other. I let her go."

"Did you?" Isard retorted. "After she gave you a son?"

Pellaeon let out a sigh. " _Because_ she gave me a son."

They had kept seeing each other on and off during their service to the Republic, breaking up after the JanFathal fiasco only to passionately reconnect later, and eventually to find out that they could never live in the same world. He was a military man whose his duty always came first. And she… she was a former intelligence agent who became disillusioned with the Republic, the Empire, the authorities in general, becoming a full-time mother and raising her child far away from everything. After all she must have gone through, he couldn't have hold it against her.

 _I can only live so much of a lie,_ she had said after JanFathal. All the good things had to come to an end. So he moved on. As did she.

"Isard," the Chiss interrupted them in a detached voice, calling her by her last name only, the Grand Admiral had been doing that from time to time when he found the individual had been unworthy of a rank or a title.

"You have already wasted enough of my time as it is. You accused him of a conflict of interest. When will you finally get to that part so I can have him stripped of his rank and start looking for a replacement? I don't have all day."

Iceheart stiffened, her mismatched eyes narrowing; she must have been fuming internally. No doubt she had intended to keep stabbing him in the back for several hours until she was satisfied enough before she would move to the JanFathal. She would have made an excellent Inquisitor if she had been a Force Sensitive.

"As you wish." Isard snarled. "Captain Pellaeon, tell us about the battle of JanFathal."

Pellaeon took a deep breath before he started.

"The _Leveler_ , a Republic assault ship under my command, had been on a cruise in the Dantus sector when we were alerted that a Separatist Fleet entered a nearby Sector. As the only Republic force in the area, I felt that I needed to investigate, taking the ship into the surveillance rage."

"Even though it was not combat ready?" Isard interrupted him.

"I hadn't intended it become a full blown combat situation. However, you are correct, we had just received new concussion missile prototypes that haven't been thoroughly tested. We weren't at full combat ready status."

"An unnecessary risk," came a sharp rebuke from the third person in the room.

Trust the Grand Admiral to point out an error in judgment when it came to command decisions. At first, Pellaeon thought that the Chiss found him utterly incompetent. Later, when Pellaeon had been put on the night roster he thought that the Chiss had done that to get rid of him. It took him a long time until he figured out that the Chiss was simply the kind of teacher that everybody hated, the one who rarely praised anyone, never missing an opportunity to point out their pupils' errors.

The patience of a saint had been a necessary prerequisite for Thrawn's second-in-command.

Isard couldn't have known that; from the way her eyes widened she certainly didn't expect the Grand Admiral to rebuke him in front of her. Had she thought that the Chiss would come to his defense?

"Yes, sir." Pellaeon said automatically. "Anyway, we had been approached by a freighter crewed by dissident Jedi who claimed that they had received a distress call from a Republic Intelligence agent on JanFathal. After I verified their report with the Republic's Intelligence, I decided to answer the distress call and come to the agent's rescue."

"The agent was no one else than your lover, Hallena Devis." Isard stated calmly.

"Yes," Pellaeon confessed, "though I didn't know the agent's identity at the time I made the decision."

"Didn't you?" Isard challenged him. "You received a transmission from her mere hours before."

"I did. And you must have seen both transmissions, therefore you are aware that I truly didn't know of the agent's identity, though I have no idea where you could have possibly gotten such piece of information."

"Never underestimate COMPNOR, Captain."

Isard's beautiful face marred in a wicked smirk.

No wonder COMPNOR hated Thrawn; it was not just what the alien represented, it was the very fact that they had absolutely nothing that could be used against him. A blow to their professional pride.

"Tell us what you did after you discovered the agent's identity, Captain." Isard encouraged him.

"I did what any reasonable commander would do," Pellaeon admitted, "I declared a conflict of interest."

"Yet you didn't relinquish the command." Isard countered.

Pellaeon didn't dare to look at the third person in the room. He could easily imagine a disapproving frown on the blue face.

"No. If I stepped down and let the first officer lead the mission, we would have been all dead. The Republic has been so used to the idea of peace that they allowed incompetent fools to climb the military ranks simply because they had political connections, one of the many factors leading to the Republic's demise."

Not that the Empire was any different lately.

Chancellor Palpatine might have dismissed the entire command structure once he declared himself the Emperor, surrounding himself only with very competent, extremely loyal people, but the corruption and nepotism quickly found its way back to the Imperial Center, spreading like a plague through the whole Empire.

He kept his mouth shut, of course, this was a New Order fanatic he was dealing with. She could have sent him to the mines of Kessel just for such remark. At least she seemed pleased with his apt description of the Republic.

"True. However, you just admitted that you risked your ship and your entire crew to extract a single field operative. There is no excuse for that, Captain. Or was it perhaps you risked everything because it was Hallena Devis whose life was at stake?"

"Like I said, Madame, those were different times."

She was too young, she couldn't have understood, though her father would.

"At that time I would have done the same for anyone else."

"Would you?" Isard challenged him again.

"Yes."

A truth.

"Then continue, Captain."

"We launched a rescue mission, sending the Clone Troopers and Jedi that had been on board, calling for reinforcements. There was an unexpected complication; a Separatist Destroyer appeared in the system, forcing me to reevaluate the situation and give an order to retreat."

"You didn't stand a chance against the Destroyer and yet you came back." Isard countered.

"I couldn't have abandoned them." Pellaeon defended himself.

"Them? Or _her_?"

The mismatched eyes narrowed.

"Them." Pellaeon repeated.

"Why do I have a problem believing that?"

Isard licked her lips.

 _You may believe whatever you want, Iceheart._ Pellaeon ignored the bait.

"There was a problem with our main computer and we had to make a manual hyperspace jump calculation. After we made the jump back to JanFathal, we found the extradition team and with the help of the Jedi we have been able to inflict a significant damage to the Separatists and retrieve the extradition team."

Isard interrupted him.

"You have withheld an important piece of information from us, Captain."

 _Why don't you tell us the whole story, then? I'd be glad to fill in the details._ Pellaeon bit his tongue from saying that aloud.

"First of all, it was not your navigator who made the jump. You allowed the Jedi to take over your ship, using their sorcery ways to jump into the system. For that alone you should have been stripped of your rank."

 _Try telling it to Darth Vader, Iceheart. He'd find your lack of faith disturbing._

"And you were completely outnumbered and outgunned during the final battle. You would have never made it out alive if it weren't for the Jedi sorcerers. It was not you, it was the Jedi whom you let run free on your own ship who prevented the inevitable: Destruction of your ship and death of all the men under your command. Do I need to remind you that those particular Jedi under command of Djinn Altis had been considered heretics even by the Jedi Order? They held no military rank! You let civilians take control your own ship!"

"What choice did I have?" Pellaeon cried out, spreading his hands.

"What choice?" Isard let out a derisive sound. "Abandon the wretched mission! Admit it, Captain Pellaeon, you have risked everything because it was Hallena Devis whose life had been in peril."

Pellaeon shook his head.

"No. I could have never been so sentimental. I stand by my decision."

"Sentimental, you say?"

By the Nine Hells, she actually purred.

"An interesting choice of words, Captain. Would you tell me how exactly were the Jedi able to sense if Hallena Devis was still alive?"

 _How in the universe does she know about this?,_ was the first thing that came to Pellaeon's mind. He had no idea how the parlor trick worked so he couldn't have brought himself to put that into an official report. And he had been certain that no one included it in their reports either.

Just how much digging she had to do to get to _that_ particular piece of information?

"They used a personal item to feel her presence," Pellaeon admitted, feeling like he has just chosen the instrument of his own destruction, "a stylus."

"And in whose possession the stylus had been?"

"Mine." Pellaeon confessed, as if he had been caught red-handed. Which was exactly what happened.

She had him.

"Captain Pellaeon, you keep saying that you made the right decision. That even if it hadn't been Hallena Devis whose life had been in peril you would have risked the lives of your own men for a one single secret agent." Isard said calmly, a corner of her mouth lazily curled into a grin.

"You know what I think, Captain Pellaeon?"

The Iceheart licked her rouge lips.

"That you have been lying to yourself all the time. You put your ship and your own crew at risk because of your personal interests. You would have never gone back if it weren't for Hallena Devis, the woman whom you cared for more than your own life. Or the life of your crew. Or your duty."

The mismatched eyes were burning deep into his soul, far more terrifying than the two Chiss eyes had even been. The left one smoldered a molten red, as if the iris were radioactively bloodshot. The pale blue of the other eye seemed colder than frozen methane.

"A conduct unbecoming of an officer. Any officer. Republic or an Imperial." She spat in disgust. "The Empire has no use for people who place their personal interests above the Imperial cause."

Pellaeon was so glad he had been sitting down because otherwise he would have fallen to his knees. His body stopped listening to him, he felt weak and vulnerable, all the strength evaporating from his body.

"You are wrong… I didn't… I wouldn't…"

"Tell me, Captain Pellaeon," Isard's voice took on an icy tone. "What happened to the stylus?"

"It broke. It was just a stylus."

That was the truth.

"Was it?" Isard raised her chin in defiance. "So, did you dispose of it when it broke?"

Pellaeon's heart rate doubled.

It was a trap, and he had been marching straight head on into it. He tried his best to keep looking straight at Isard, ignoring the third person in the room who told him to submit himself to her and answer all her questions truthfully.

"No, I…" Pellaeon hesitated. He still had a chance to save himself. "I kept it. I had it repaired."

Isard slowly shook her head. "And you still carry it around? After all those years?"

Pellaeon didn't have the strength to answer, he just nodded.

"Are you carrying it now?"

An ugly smile flashed over Isard's face.

"I…" _You will submit yourself to her._ "Yes."

"Then perhaps, Captain, if it is indeed a mere stylus, you wouldn't mind showing it to me?" She asked in such a warm, encouraging tone that he would have had believed her if he had never met her. If he hadn't know she was rotten to the core.

"Show me." The Iceheart commanded, her voice so full of command authority that it made him reach toward his pocket out of an instinct. And then his hand stopped in midair.

 _No._

She would break it. She would smash it apart in front of his very eyes. Just to prove her point.

"Confess!"

 _No!_

He had made the right decision that time.

He would have done the same.

He knew it.

He was certain of it.

Was he?

Was he _really?_

 _Min min vil ut valle Nharquis,_ the worst Ancient Corellian oath. He would definitely eat her ashes. The Iceheart succeeded in planting the seed of doubt into his mind. And now there was nothing that could have stopped her from having her way with him...

"How long do you intend to keep going?"

The Grand Admiral's detached, pure clinical tone broke his line of thoughts. The Chiss might have seemed completely indifferent to a casual observer but Pellaeon knew better by now. Thrawn had been sitting there, watching Isard with his glowing red gaze, biding his time, reminding him of a Drayberian hawk waiting for an opportunity to strike.

And the time has come.

"You heard him!" Isard cried out triumphantly, an expression of pure bliss on her face. "He has doubts! He placed his personal interests above his duty and he would have done so again. He isn't fully dedicated to the Imperial cause!"

There was a brief, indescribable shift in the red gaze, the only indication that the Chiss was ready to make his move and tear his unsuspecting prey apart, piece by piece. Pellaeon has seen Thrawn in action, he had been present most of the times the Grand Admiral chose to execute his master plans. Sometimes that carefully controlled facade slipped, a smirk marring the pale blue lips, but this was not the time.

Whatever Thrawn was about going to do, it wouldn't be pretty. He couldn't have possibly gotten away with killing Director Armand Isard's daughter, would he?

"And he is not the only one in the room."

Isard opened her mouth and then closed it abruptly, her high forehead furrowing in a frown, spoiling her otherwise beautiful face.

"What did you just say?" she asked, puzzled, turning her chair toward him, Pellaeon forgotten.

Thrawn kept watching her from the head of the table, his expression carved from stone. He had almost a regal air around him, reminding Pellaeon of a king who became bored with one of his subjects of whom he knew that had been plotting against him, tolerating it because the subject's effort had been particularly amusing, until it finally crossed the line.

"Isard, we have been playing these games for many years."

The king said his sentence. The subject was about to be disposed of in a very clinical manner.

"When was it exactly it stopped being a mere professional challenge and became an obsession?"

 _Ready. Aim. Fire._

"When was it exactly you started falling for the alien you intended to bring to his knees?"

Thrawn put a bolt right through Ysanne Isard's heart, making Pellaeon shudder.

"You alien scum!"

Isard jumped in her seat, her fists curling in impotent rage, her already pale features turning chalk white, reminding him of a porcelain doll.

"How _dare_ you?!"

"I could tell you the exact moment it happened." Thrawn said in a tone that could have cut glass. "I know how your mind works. I know what kind of thoughts you allow yourself in the privacy of your own mind when you think of me. You are not the only one in this room who can break people apart. Don't make me to say it aloud."

Pellaeon wished he could have simply sneaked out of the room while the two sworn enemies had been occupied with each other, his eyes flickering between the Chiss and the Iceheart. He knew it was futile, and so he tried his best becoming invisible, shutting his brain, sealing his lips, taking slow, even breaths.

"You tried to tempt me with art. You came to art auctions and bought the pieces I had been interested in front of my very eyes." The Chiss continued, his voice colder than vaccum. "You tried to set me up with some of my favorite artists by blackmailing them into approaching me. You repeatedly broke into my apartment at Coruscant and stole the most expensive pieces of my collection. And when none of that worked you decided to take your revenge on my Fleet."

Each of the sentences was a condemnation.

"You are sick. You don't care if this man breaks. You came here for one purpose only. To get an emotional reaction from me. To make me lose my temper. To make me hate you. Because even hate is more acceptable to you than a cold indifference."

Isard's whole body was shaking, her mismatched eyes blazing with fury.

Pellaeon knew the woman prided herself on behaving like an iron lady, rising rapidly in the Imperial Court by crushing all her enemies, abusing them, breaking them apart mentally and physically, brainwashing them into the most obedient slaves in the universe, fully dedicated to the New Order.

And yet it seemed even the Iceheart could have been broken. She did not appear to like the taste of her own medicine.

"And you have lost." Thrawn finished, calmly delivering it like a verdict in the courtroom. "Because I do not care. I never did."

The Grand Admiral stood up and walked over to her, leaning over her, invading her personal space, cupping her face in one white-gloved hand, tilting up her chin, using the other white-gloved hand to stroke her cheek in a mockery of a caress.

"How could you think I could _ever_ feel anything for the likes of you…" Thrawn said softly, too softly, making the Iceheart shiver under his touch. "I wonder if I perhaps should pay a visit to the COMPNOR HQ on Coruscant and have a word with your father about your rather … eccentric tastes."

"Stop."

The one word sounded like a glass column fractured into a thousand pieces and then shattered apart.

"Stop."

She repeated the plea in a hoarse voice, a single drop of tear falling down from the icy blue eye and streaking across her cheek.

" _Please_."

The Chiss didn't move, his overwhelming presence looming over her, his face mere centimeters from hers, looking like one of the demons from ancient Corellian mythology that devoured its victims with a cold kiss.

"Would _you_ stop?" The Chiss asked in a deceptively-mild tone, the glowing red gaze boring deep into her mismatched eyes.

"You wouldn't, would you? Why should I? I will tell you why. Because I am nothing like you. Live with it."

And abruptly he straightened and took a few steps back, retreating from her personal space. He had been about to deliver the final blow to the Iceheart, to plunge a dagger through it and twist the knife. And he stopped, mere centimeters from those lips. She'd had enough.

"Nothing that has been said will ever leave this room." The Grand Admiral declared, and there was durasteel in that command that Pellaeon had never heard before. This never happened. Pellaeon's doubts. Isard's heartbreak. Thrawn's ruthlessness. Thrawn's final show of mercy. None of it.

Isard sat there, stunned, as if refusing to believe it, tears falling down from both of her mismatched eyes. She looked so completely lost, so shattered, so beaten down to her knees; she looked so delicate and vulnerable that Pellaeon briefly considered going over to her and offering her his hand to stand up, his old fashioned gentlemanly resurfacing. He dismissed it immediately; she would have killed him for it.

"Go." Thrawn repeated in his smooth, modulated voice, taking a deep breath. "Get out of my sight."

Isard finally recovered from her stupor, using her both hands to wipe her tears, and finally standing up, very slowly, as if every movement resulted in an immense pain. She walked away, her heels clicking unnaturally loud in the deafening silence of the room. She didn't run, even though Pellaeon had no doubt that right now she wanted nothing more in the universe but run away from the Chiss, removing her shoes if it made her run faster.

Thrawn watched her walking away, his red eyes narrowing, his expression going dark, darker than a black hole, making Pellaeon wonder if the artificial gravity generators on the ship suddenly malfunctioned and raised the gravity level by several degrees.

"Oh. And if a vessel broadcasting the COMPNOR's signature ever appears on _Chimaera_ 's sensors again, or on any other ship's belonging to the Seventh Fleet, I will order them to fire at will and worry about the paperwork later." Thrawn uttered with the same durasteel tone he had used few minutes ago when Isard was about to press the switch to open the door.

The door opened with a hissing sound, a screech, as if the cold metal could feel the threat behind those words, making Isard flinch visibly even from a distance. And Pellaeon knew it was not the screech that caused her flinch.

When the door finally closed, Pellaeon let out the breath he had no idea he had been holding, sagging deep into the chair, using his palm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Even though he had seen the Grand Admiral execute his schemes on the bridge, never before he had seen him strike down his enemies on the ground, carrying out his plans personally.

He knew the Chiss had been dangerous, but now he knew how truly dangerous he was. He could be far more terrifying than Darth Vader if he wanted to. A part of his mind felt pity for a foe who would be foolish enough to invoke the wrath of Thrawn.

Pellaeon knew the Grand Admiral had been playing a game of hide and seek with the Rebels, toying with them like a lothcat with a mouse, letting them escape with their meager rewards. At the present, they were nothing but a mere distraction from the whatever real issues that had been occupying his mind. The Grand Admiral found them amusing, sometimes Pellaeon even noticed the Chiss smiling at their ingeniousness, praising them for their sharp wits and their resourcefulness. He had been especially fond of the Twi'lek Captain and Commander Sato. Surely they wouldn't be foolish enough to try his patience, would they? Even Isard had enough common sense and knew when to back down. But then, the Rebels didn't really know Thrawn. They had no idea they were playing with fire.

The Chiss was the most dangerous being in the Galaxy, far more dangerous than the Dark Lord himself. They didn't know Thrawn would simply crush them once he no longer found their attempts at trying his patience him amusing.

Yet at the same time Pellaeon knew that he himself had absolutely nothing to fear from Thrawn. What had he done to deserve that? What had he done to that the Grand Admiral decided to take him under his dark wings?

The Chiss closed the distance between them, taking over the seat directly opposite to him that Isard had occupied previously, taking off his white gloves in a very careful, deliberate manner as if the fabric had been contaminated.

Pellaeon cleared his throat, trying to alleviate the atmosphere in the room.

"You might want to buy a new pair of gloves, sir."

Cracking jokes at the Grand Admiral was like using a Hammerhead Corvette to crack an escape pod but after everything that had been said today, Pellaeon needed to blow off steam a little.

"Black ones, preferably."

At least the dirt and the dust wouldn't be so visible against black fabric once the Chiss decided to perform a surprise inspection of the ship. The engineering department in particular learned their lesson; the _Chimaera_ 's engine room became as clean as the Grand Admiral's uniform.

The Chiss focused his red yes at him, giving him a deep probing gaze. He leaned forward, his elbows resting at the edge of the table, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"Captain Pellaeon, please let me express my most sincere apology for the events that transpired today and for everything that had been said. I made an error, Captain, but I _do_ hope that I managed to correct it before it became a mistake."

Pellaeon barked out a laugh. "I might need a couple days off, sir, that is all."

"Granted," came back an immediate reply.

The Chiss was watching him intently, studying him as if he was a particularly puzzling piece in his art collection. What style would Pellaeon fit into? Impressionism? Or perhaps fauvism?

Well, it was now or never.

"And maybe a bonus? I have alimony to pay, after all."

"Denied."

Pellaeon suppressed a grimace, he knew it wouldn't work. He leaned back in the chair, finding a comfortable position because apparently the Grand Admiral was not finished with him yet; he knew that particular look, and he knew the Chiss was capable of simply staring like that for hours. He might as well made himself at least comfortable if the interrogation was about to continue.

"So you have a son?"

The Chiss started in a very matter-of-fact tone, making Pellaeon suppress a smirk. The Grand Admiral was a deeply private person, never revealing personal information, never _asking_ for personal information. The simple fact that he was asking such question meant he must have been curious enough to put his principles aside.

"Well," Pellaeon said sheepishly, trying not to squirm under the intense scrutiny, "I might have more than one son stashed somewhere, actually."

"You do not _know_?"

The expression on the blue angular face was calm and composed as ever but the red eyes widened considerably. It must have come to him as a shock.

"How is that even possible?"

Oh dear.

"Well, I could explain, sir, but I would prefer to keep the whatever remains of dignity I have left."

"Of course, Captain."

The Grand Admiral straightened and crossed his arms, swallowing whatever else had been on his tongue, still studying him intently with that red gaze. Honestly, Pellaeon had no idea what the Chiss found so fascinating about the notion that it made him curious enough to put his principles aside but it _did_ give Pellaeon a right to ask something in return. Or at least he hoped so, he didn't really have any right.

"So, she really sent Zeltron after you?" Pellaeon coughed, internally praying he had not overstepped.

Corners of the alien's lips twitched in a smirk.

"She did. Two of them. A female _and_ a male."

Pellaeon knew he shouldn't have laughed at that but he couldn't help himself, the idea of sending Zeltron, _plural_ , of both genders, _just in case_ , as her last possible resort to discredit him was priceless. He would have given anything to see Isard's sour face and the temper tantrum that followed after even _this_ failed.

"That's… By the Emperor, she must have been _really_ desperate."

Thrawn only shrugged, completely unreadable. "We had a very interesting conversation about what they call 'pictures of the floating world.' I did not know that Zeltron were so appreciative of woodblock printing. They even invited me to come over and visit the Zeltron Woodblock Print Museum."

Pellaeon kept laughing despite knowing how inappropriate and unprofessional it must have seemed to the Chiss.

"That might not be a bad idea at all, Admiral. The crew would enjoy a visit to Zeltros."

Though human-alien relationships became a serious taboo under the New Order, to every rule there was an exception. And Zeltron, perhaps also Twi'lek, were the exception in this case. What happened on Zeltros stayed on Zeltros. It was like a red light district on a planetary scale.

"Traditionally, it is considered the Captain's privilege to choose the destination of the ship's annual shore leave," Thrawn said in a neutral tone, "While I am your direct superior officer I would not want to take away that particular privilege from you."

Pellaeon smirked, licking his lips.

"Zeltros it is, then."

"Haven't you learned your lesson, Captain?"

One of the blue black eyebrows shot up. The Grand Admiral did not need to slap him across the wrist or throw one of his trade mark glares to make his point heard.

"But sir, it's _Zeltros_!" Pellaeon protested, "You really have no idea what you are missing!"

Thrawn shrugged again, his face completely unreadable. Whether he did or did not know, whatever had been going on in that alien brain, it was impossible to say, the Chiss had the best sabbac face in the universe when he got into his reticent moods. He kept staring at him, giving him one of the red eyed looks that could see right through his soul.

Pellaeon didn't know how long the Grand Admiral would continue analyzing him like that, making mental notes about every single detail, but it was staring to make him feel uncomfortable.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," the Chiss said abruptly in a melodic language that Pellaeon did not recognize at all.

"Uh?" Pellaeon blurted out, "I am sorry, sir, what did you just say?"

"My name, Captain," the Chiss said evenly.

It was hilarious, really, considering how deeply private person the Grand Admiral had been, when he decided to finally reveal something about himself he would do so in the most off-handed manner possible, saying it as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

 _What is the Capital of the Galactic Empire? What is the name of the Emperor? What is the full name of Grand Admiral Thrawn?_

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo?" Pellaeon repeated slowly, trying his best to imitate the unfamiliar intonation, fully aware that his first attempt must have seemed, to put it mildly, awkward.

Never before Pellaeon would have thought that the Chiss would be capable of a scowl; it couldn't have lasted for more than a second but it was definitely a very _human_ -like scowl.

"Something… like that," the Chiss murmured softly, his jaw clenching, "you see, Captain, Cheunh is a complex tonal language that uses a combination of core words to represent ideas, with complicated ideas, such as names, being expressed by combining words into a larger whole. It takes a rather long time getting used to. That was the reason I allowed humans to call me simply Thrawn."

 _Combining words into a larger whole? By the Nine Hells, what did I just say to ellicit such reaction?_

"In any case, Captain," The Grand Admiral said evenly, his voice smooth and cultured, his face once again so proud and full of authority, "I presumed you might at least deserve to know the name of the person who made you submit to all this."

"Admiral," Pellaeon knew it was about time to change the topic, "I am not sure that insulting Isard in such a manner was a wise move."

Technically, it could be considered questioning a superior's decisions but the Grand Admiral has always welcomed his input, sometimes even encouraging him to tell him his honest opinion.

"You literally broke her Iceheart."

"I can handle Isard, Captain," Thrawn said in a tone that spoke of an absolute conviction, a clear sign for Pellaeon to leave the matter be, "what matters to me is that she has learned her lesson. The whole Seventh Fleet is off limits from now on."

The Grand Admiral finally stood up, effectively ending the hearing session. "Enough talk, Captain," he said mischievously, a sudden spark in his eyes.

"We still have the Rebels to catch. Will you follow me?"

 _I would follow you into the depths of the Nine Hells and you know it._

 **THE END**


End file.
